Why Cressida Turned Rebel
by CharlesTheBold
Summary: Cressida's entire attitude toward the Games and the Capitol changes once she discovers a Tribute as a real person instead of an image on a screen.
1. In the Midst of Things

**WHY CRESSIDA TURNED REBEL**

_(Disclaimer: I have no business connection with HUNGER GAMES. My only purpose in writing this story is to have fun and maybe share it)_

**Chapter 1 In the Midst of Things**

Andie looked over the cliff, at the rocks nearly 50 meters below. She was from the flat plains of District 10, and the sight was both alien and frightening. The only experience that gave her comparable vertigo was when she was first learning to ride a horse and was afraid of falling off, and that was on a far smaller scale. But she preferred this tableau to the one behind her.

A few meters away was the boy tribute whom she had killed in self-defense, bashing his head in with a rock. She couldn't remember his name, or even his district. During Training she had been too frazzled to keep track of all the competitors, and she could scarcely have asked his identity when he was trying to kill her. She would probably learn the district when they showed the "Fallen" tonight. She wished the hovercraft would come and take the body away. But maybe he was too close to the rising bulk of the upper mountain for them to risk it.

She had resolved, a few days ago, not to kill in the arena. She would simply hide and avoid battle as long as she could. Unfortunately, the form of this year's arena left few opportunities for concealment. The arena was one huge mountain, with the Cornucopia and pedestals at the summit. Some of the tributes had apparently found caves, but she wasn't one of the lucky ones. Travelling down a mountain on a path, with the cliff on one side and the mountain rocks on the other, she had been horribly visible, and he had spotted her. And when he gave her a sharp jab in her left breast during his attack, the pain and sense of violation overrode her resolution. She had rough-housed with other cowboys and –girls in District 10, but there had been unwritten rules in fights there – you avoided hurting the eyes, or genitals, or girls' breasts. Here the Gamesmasters didn't care how much you hurt your opponent. There had been plenty of loose rocks lying around, and she had –

The Games would continue, and for her there were only a few ways it could end. She could win, and have other people's blood on her hands for the rest of her life. She could die, slowly and agonizingly, by starvation or thirst. Or she could get a quicker death by letting another tribute kill her.

There was another alternative, that her escort Cressida had not spelled out. She could end it now. The mountain-style arena would make it easy to die.

Andie got slowly to her feet. Any last thoughts? She meditated on the consolation that she would not have to kill anyone else again, just herself. Then she stepped to the very edge of the cliff and jumped.

A hundred kilometers away, watching the Games, Cressida screamed in shock and grief.

TO BE CONTINUED


	2. The Grim Reaper

**WHY CRESSIDA TURNED REBEL**

**Chapter 2 The Grim Reaper**

A few weeks before, Cressida was working on the documentary on the previous year's Hunger Games, when the summons came from Plutarch. The message didn't say what he wanted; whether it was good news or bad news. The Hunger Games were so central to Imperial culture that working on them was a two-edged sword: succeeding gave one much prestige, but mucking them up was dangerous. She remembered a few years earlier when the Victor committed suicide a few days after the Games, forcing cancellation of the Victory Tour that year. Snow ordered the Chief Gamesmaster executed, and the side effects of that went down several layers of hierarchy,

Plutarch was smiling when she came to his office. It wasn't always easy to interpret his smiles, but at least it wasn't like a smile from President Snow, which could mean that he was enjoying contemplating your imminent death. "Hello, Cressida. Please sit down."

She did.

"First, have you heard anything about the design of this year's arena?"

"No, I'm working on documenting last year. This year's team is hush-hush, as usual."

"That's good, and I'll explain why. We have a bit of problem, and we hope that you can help us out. The escort for District 10 was found in a stupor this morning, intoxicated with too much morphling. She'll recover, though her disciplinary action won't be very pleasant. The problem is, we can't trust her to handle the reaping. Can you take over the reaping ceremony?"

"I've never been out of the Capitol before." Indeed, she felt rather like a citizen of ancient Rome, setting out on a journey into barbarian lands. The Capitol was civilization. The image of the Chief Gamesmaster executed by an angry Emperor vanished from her mind.

"But you'll be transported exactly where you need to go. You've seen films of numerous reapings; you'll know what to do. Your only other duty will be to teach the tributes the protocols surrounding the Games, which you also know well. And the District 10 mentor will be there to help you."

Cressida hesitated.

"Don't think that you'll be taking a step downward, working as an escort for the current Games. It's not a demotion; you'll be helping us out."

It sounded like she was being politely asked, not ordered to take the assignment. But Plutarch was an enigmatic person; you never knew where you stood with him. Turning him down would probably not be good for her career.

"Very well, I'll do it. I'll just need a few hours to transfer my project to somebody else."

"Fine. Now, let me explain why I asked about the arena. Escorts are never told about the arena details. Too much danger of their telling their tributes, and giving them an extra advantage when the games start."

Cressida knew that, but it had always seemed to her that secrecy about the arena made things unnecessarily complicated. There were thousands of people involved in constructing an arena – Gamesmakers, engineers, construction workers, and finally communications people setting up surveillance everywhere. Each one a possible security risk, which complicated the work. Why not just let the information be general knowledge, and let the tributes be equally warned? But hers was not to reason why—

"I'll be careful not to find out," she promised.

Two days later she was on the train out of the Capitol to District 10. It was less of a psychological strain than she expected. Being on the train was like taking the Capitol civilization with her, as long as she did not look out the window. Indeed, when they were a couple of hours from the destination, she actually unblacked the window and sampled the view.

She was already within District 10. She saw vast plains, with cattle wandering and grazing. The sight made her feel a little queasy. She had never seen live cattle before, just their end product sitting on plates at a meal. She didn't much like the reminder that they were once living things capable of moving about.

She also saw a few figures on horseback, riding around keeping the herd in order. She was familiar with horses; they used them in the Capitol for the tribute parades and other formal occasions. But at the Capitol they always used moved at a slow, dignified pace, and they were programmed to go to specific destinations without guidance. They were even trained not to leave droppings in inconvenient places. But here, even though the train's own swift movement obscured matters, they looked swift and powerful, and under the control of their riders.

"Is that prudent?" Cressida asked the young woman assigned as her guide. The girl was from the Capitol, but she had made this trip several times before and knew some things about the District. If she was upset or pleased at the absence of the usual escort, her expression and manner did not show it.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am?"

"A man with a horse can be rather formidable. Is it safe to give locals that much power?"

"Only a few people are granted horses, ma'am, and only if they're quite trustworthy. They consider it a great honor." Her nose wrinkled. "Though sitting on a smelly animal for hours is not my idea of a thrill."

The train came to a stop in the District 10 passenger station. It was a surprising small building; the guide explained that the cargo – tonnes of meat every week – were loaded at a separate station. They walked straight from the train to the car. The station and the car both reflected Capitol-style elegance, yet neither could exclude a stench in the air. "Stockyards" was the one-word explanation from the guide.

The streets were lined by buildings that looked shabby to Cressida's eyes. The Hall of Justice, however, looked suitably majestic, even though the car pulled up to the back door.

Inside they met two of the important personages of District 10 – the mayor, and Peter Buttyan, who was one of the Districts' victors, and the one chosen as this year's mentor. He was tall and heavyset; Cressida recalled that he had won his Games by sheer brute strength, strangling a Career in his final battle. He did have elegant dress and manners, however, and seemed to consider himself an "honorary" citizen of the Capitol, even though he was only allowed there when he was mentor during the Games. They escorted Cressida to the main doors of the Hall. Cressida found herself on a balcony, facing a huge crowd.

The feeling of facing a District crowd was a surprise to Cressida. She had seen numerous reapings on TV or recordings, but somehow they hadn't prepared her for the reality. She could almost read their predominant emotions – fear, and hostility.

She cleared her throat and gave the traditional greeting. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

The crowd just stared. Hastily she introduced the propo film that explained the historical origin of the Games, and pointed to the screen mounted to the left of the Hall. That gave her some relief, partly because the crowd was no longer staring at HER, and because propos were familiar territory. By the end, she had regained some composure.

"And now!" she called dramatically. "Ladies first!"

She walked to the huge bowl on the left side of the balcony, and explored it with her hand, careful not to look at the contents. It was bad form to pick a paper right from the top, so she rummaged a bit before pulling out a single paper. Unrolling it, she called out the name: "Andromeda Cass!"

There was a rippling motion in the female side of the crowd; eventually it became clear that the girls were moving away from the Chosen One, as if she were contaminated. She could see a girl, maybe 15, in sturdy blouse and pants. She was standing as if stunned. Only when Peacekeepers started toward her did she start walking toward the Hall. She nearly stumbled on the steps.

"Pleased to meet you, Andromeda," said Cressida.

"Hullo," she muttered, turning her head away from the cameras. Cressida was close enough to see why: there were tears in her eyes, and the girl did not want the Imperial audience to see.

To the Capitol, it was a good thing to be reaped for the Games. At the very least, the chosen one had a few weeks of Capitol luxury that she probably never dreamed of. At the best, she could be the victor, enjoying fame and fortune for the rest of her life.

But for the first time in her life, Cressida realized that the Hunger Games might mean something different to the denizens of the Districts than they did to her.

TO BE CONTINUED.


End file.
